


a deep breath

by plutodolohov



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Brief Mention of Suicide, Fluff, Harry-centric, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hugs, M/M, Nicknames, Nightmares, Oblivious Harry, Romance, Scents & Smells, Sharing a Bed, Time Skips, and he's repenting, draco's been hurt, hermione’s great advice, very very very brief mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:08:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29479701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutodolohov/pseuds/plutodolohov
Summary: Harry and the gang are back at school for eighth year, and he can't seem to keep his eyes off Malfoy. But the blonde is quiet - and Harry is all off-kilt. And why does Malfoy keep saying he smells?Fluff! A story about feelings, beds, smells, and ever-wise Hermione - and, of course, our favorite oblivious boys.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 151





	a deep breath

**Author's Note:**

> a piece I wrote a while back for an Instagram competition. hope you enjoy! it's my first drarry ever :D
> 
> thank you to the amazing [harleybarley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harleybarley) and [siaaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/siaaa) for betaing!

When Harry walked back into the Great Hall, the first thing he noticed wasn’t the new teachers, or the half-enchanted ceiling, or even the fact that there were five tables instead of four. No, what he noticed first was the flash of blonde hair that only meant one thing — or rather, one person. Somehow, Malfoy had got here before any of them and was now sitting down, shoulders hunched, looking very un-Malfoy-like. 

But surely that couldn’t be right? As long as Harry had known him, Malfoy never tried to act like he wasn’t there. He was loud and brash and an annoying git — he was _Malfoy_ , for god’s sake. Harry’s thoughts ran as he tried to understand what he was seeing, but then McGonagall started talking, and he set that vein of thinking to the side. He pushed his way to the Gryffindor table, impatient for the feast to start after the long train ride to Hogwarts. Merlin, he wished they had more than just snacks on the train. 

As McGonagall spoke, Harry couldn’t help but look back over at Malfoy. The git wasn’t even looking at McGonagall, and he seemed distant, an emotion Harry couldn’t place on his face — maybe fear? Before Harry could analyse the emotions on the blonde’s face, everyone around him was standing. He turned and saw all the eighth years moving towards the table at the end and quickly followed suit. As he blindly followed Hermione, he glanced once more in Malfoy’s direction – 

And made eye contact. Neither of them looked away, and for once Harry could see what Malfoy was going through. The fear was overpowering, turning the grey of the blonde’s eyes into swirling whirlpools of silver. Harry was lost in the movement and ferocity, unconsciously moving closer, only stumbling to a stop when someone whispered “Harry!” loudly. 

Looking around, he realized the entire hall was staring oddly at him, and all the other returners were sitting down, though none of them were as close to Malfoy as he was. Ron and Hermione were gesturing for him to sit, and he began walking toward until - 

“Mr. Potter! May I ask you what you are doing?”

Harry turned and saw McGonagall standing near Malfoy, looking at him expectantly. 

“No, Professor, I — I wasn’t doing anything.”

McGonagall looked at him through her glasses, the familiar soul-staring look brushing over him. “Very well, Mr. Potter, please take your seat, so that I may continue to the feast.” She walked away briskly. 

Groaning silently, Harry made his way to Ron and Hermione. When he finally sat down, Ron leaned over, whispering, “Tough luck, mate. McGonagall’s on you already?” He chuckled, “And the feast hasn’t even started!”

Harry agreed absently, too busy staring at Malfoy, who had his head down and was staring at the table. Not once did he look up, not even when the food appeared. Not even when Parkinson sat next to him and attempted to start a conversation; she eventually gave up and went back to sit with Zabini.

“Harry! You aren’t eating! Are you okay?”

Hermione’s voice cut through his thoughts. He turned and gave her a smile, trying to put all thoughts of Malfoy out of his mind.

“I’m fine, Mione, just thinking.”

He picked up his plate, listening as Hermione talked about the classes they would be taking. But he couldn’t help but glance back at the silent blonde one last time as he bit into a piece of his pie. Why was he so quiet? His attention was soon turned when Ron brought up Quidditch as they walked to their new dorm. 

The next time Harry thought about Malfoy was when they were reading room assignments.

“Bloody hell, I’m with Zabini,” Ron complained. “Rooming with a Slytherin! He’s sure to kill me in my sleep. Who’ve you got, Harry?”

“I don’t know, let me check.” Harry pushed his way to the front of the crowd so he could read the list easier. His eyebrows rose as he read the names; he knew McGonagall was trying to promote inter-house unity and all that, but some room assignments were ridiculous — like really, Padma and Mione? They couldn’t be more different. He saw his name and followed the chart to see he was rooming with –

“Potter.”

— Malfoy. Harry turned and found himself face-to-face with platinum blonde hair. He moved back and looked down into Malfoy’s face. Merlin, he hadn't realized he'd gotten so tall. He stared at Malfoy, caught in how dull the normally bright grey eyes looked until he felt a finger poke his stomach.  
Harry zoned back in at the insistent jabs to his stomach. 

“… staring at me, will you let me through? Not all of us are endowed with superhuman height.” Malfoy’s voice was different, too. The lilting speech and high voice were gone, replaced with a soft baritone.

“Or what, Malfoy? You gonna hit me?” Harry snapped at the shorter boy.

To his surprise, instead of snapping back, Malfoy seemed to shrink back, quietly saying, “Never mind, Potter. I’ll just look later.” He turned and fled, disappearing into the crowd.

Harry frowned at yet more un-Malfoy-like behaviour. What was wrong with the blonde? Usually, he was always up in Harry’s face, but now he was timid and withdrawn. He shook his head, resolving to talk to Hermione later, and turned to go sit by the fire. He only got halfway to the fire before he was accosted by Parkinson and Zabini. Faster than you could say “snitch,” the dark-haired girl began speaking.

“Potter — I — I just wanted to apologize for everything that I did last year, especially trying to hand you over to the Dark Lord, I was scared and I just wanted the war to be over.” The former Slytherin finished talking, looking at Harry with apprehension.

Harry stood still as he tried to wrap his head around what Parkinson was saying, before realizing she was apologizing. _Apologizing!_ A small part of him wanted to hold it over her head and reject her apology, but the larger part of him knew that the world would never change if people didn't let go of their prejudices. He nodded once at Parkinson. 

“It’s okay. We were all scared and trying to stay alive. The war’s over. We all need to move on.”

Parkinson looked at him agape for so long that he thought he had accidentally Petrified her. Zabini wasn’t much better, but he snapped out first, elbowing Parkinson as well.

“Well, in that case, call me Pansy,” the black-haired girl, reaching out a hand. He looked at Parkin — Pansy’s eager face, reached out, and shook her hand.

“A pleasure, Pansy. Please, call me Harry.”

Her smile proved that he had made the right decision. But that elation soon ebbed to confusion as Pansy looked over his shoulder at the bulletin board and the smile turned sad. Before he could turn around and see what there was, Pansy was talking, “I saw the rooming list, Pot — Harry. Be kind to Draco. He doesn’t have much left.”  
With that, she left as quickly as she had turned up.

When Harry looked around, he saw Malfoy sitting by the fire, reading a book, curled up in a ball. The thought that Malfoy was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible hit Harry again, but it didn’t make sense; the Malfoy that Harry knew was brash and loud and arrogant. But here he sat, small and silent and… afraid. His platinum blonde hair was longer than he had ever seen, and was held off the smaller boy’s face with a pale blue ribbon. Even though he sat right by the fire, Malfoy had his sleeves all the way to his wrist — and as Harry watched, he would stop reading to pull them further over his wrists and hands, almost as if he were — oh. Of course. The hint of black on a left forearm had peeked through, and Harry remembered that Malfoy was the enemy.

But, was he? He hadn’t done anything to anyone since they had arrived; he hadn’t spoken, not even to his fellow Slytherins; he hadn’t eaten anything; McGonagall had even defended him! If anything, Harry knew he could trust McGonagall, and if McGonagall could defend Malfoy, then maybe he wasn’t all bad: maybe he had changed. Harry hoped he had. Parkin — _Pansy_ (he would have to get in the habit of calling her by her last name) had said to watch out for him, to “be kind.” If there was one thing Harry knew he could do, it was being kind. Even if it meant making amends with your arch-nemesis.

The more he looked, the more he realized, the brash blonde was gone; the annoying pointy git was gone; the bravado, the arrogance, the high-horse posture — all of it was gone. Malfoy was gone. No, now all that there was left was Draco. Draco was afraid… quiet… ashamed. Draco, Harry decided, was who he wanted to know. After years of knowing Malfoy, Harry was ready to meet Draco. His mind made up, Harry walked over to the fireplace and stood right in front of Draco’s chair, clearing his throat to get the blonde’s attention.

Draco looked up with eyes that swirled silver with fear and tears, his book held tight and his body curled and stiff in anticipation. He looked ready for an assault of any kind. 

So, Harry said, as clearly as he could, “Seven years ago, you asked to be friends. Since then, we’ve been through a lot.” He swallowed, realizing the common room had gone silent, watching the two most volatile boys in the grade interact. “So, seeing as we’re rooming, I don’t think it’d be good if we were at each other’s throats. So, start anew?” he asked, sticking his hand out.

He waited. Draco looked at the hand, then at Harry’s face, then back at the hand. Slowly, he reached out and shook Harry’s hand.

The two boys smiled softly at each other while the common room chatter started up again.

_Two months later:_

“Mione, I need your help,” Harry huffed as he sat down next to the bushy haired girl in the library.

“What is it, Harry?”

“I think — I think — I think that -”

“Take your time, Harry.”

He nodded, took a deep breath, and said, “I think I have a crush on Draco.”

Hermione blinked. She blinked some more after that, and then some more. Harry was getting worried with how quiet his bushy-haired friend had become, when she suddenly whipped out her wand and cast a _Muffliato_. 

“Well, Harry, what makes you think that?”

“Well, recently, when I look at him, I can’t stop staring at him, and then one time he bit his lip and it was so distracting, I messed up my potion and then earlier this week, he was talking to one of the Ravenclaws, I think it was Goldstein, just someone blonde, and they put their arm around him, and I got so jealous and ignored Draco and now he’s mad at me, and -”

“Woah, hold on, Harry, I think I get it,” Hermione interrupted. “All the things you’re saying are signs of physical attraction. So how do you know you just don’t want to, you know, shag him or something?”

“First, Mione, it’s so bloody weird hearing you curse now,” Harry responded, snorting slightly. “Secondly, because, we have these really personal talks, and I know him better as a person now, he’s so funny and cute and smart.”

“Really? I’m surprised.”

“Really! Me and Draco talk about so much. He told me about his backstory. I told him about the forest.”

Hermione gasped, “The forest?” At Harry’s nod, her eyes grew even wider.

“You really do care for him, then. This is real.”

“Yeah, it is,” Harry sighed. “Only problem now is that I don’t know how to deal with it.”

“Before I tell you how to get your guy — don’t give me that look, Harry! You came to me for advice! — anyway, before I tell you, do you mind sharing some stuff that you and Draco have talked about?”

“Promise not to tell anyone if I tell you? They’re pretty dark, not to mention personal, and I don’t want anyone to know…”

“I promise, Harry,” Hermione said, before casting another _Muffliato_ followed by some _Notice-Me-Not charms_.

“Thanks, Mione,” Harry said, smiling slightly. He began to talk softly, his eyes shining as he recalled Draco’s confessions.

“It started when I woke up to screams. This was only a few days after term had started. At first, I thought it was me — you know my nightmares — but then I realized it was Draco. He was tossing and turning in his sleep, and he kept crying out stuff like, ‘No, please! Help!’ 

I went over to his bed quickly, tried to wake him up, but instead he just calmed down and went back to sleep. I just kinda sat there, waiting to make sure he was asleep, waiting to see if he maybe woke up. When he didn’t, I went back to my bed and went back to sleep. I didn’t say anything the next morning and didn’t think about it until the same thing happened a few days later. Then again a few days after that. And after that. And after that. 

Finally, I just talked to him and asked if it was a recurring nightmare and if he was okay, and — long story short, he said that I helped him sleep. Something about my scent?” Harry said, confused slightly, but he shook his head slightly and continued on.

“Anyway, now most days we sleep together — as in sleeping in a bed together, god, Mione, don’t look like that! _As I was saying_ , he tells me a lot of stuff at night, stuff about his life at the Manor when he was growing up, his life at Hogwarts — well, his side of things, mostly stuff about the war, and — he told me about his life after the trials, and how — how Goyle killed himself, and how he had felt when Crabbe died, and –”

Harry stopped abruptly, looking at Hermione’s face for the first time in several minutes.

“I don’t think he would be happy that I’ve said as much as I have. You — you get my point though, right?”

Hermione nodded, not trusting herself to speak lest the tears she felt in her eyes fall. She took a minute to collect herself, then started to talk.

“Well, Harry, I believe you. You have a crush. Draco has a crush. So, what are you waiting for? Kiss him!”

Harry started at the excitement in her voice.

“But, Mione, I — how do you know he likes me back?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Harry. The boy is sleeping in the same bed as you. He has told you all his secrets. What more of a sign do you need?”

“What — But — How — How do you even know if he’s gay?” Harry spluttered.

“I don’t,” Hermione said simply. “But I do know that I would never tell someone my darkest secrets unless I was deeply attracted to them, or unless I deeply trusted them. And it sounds to me like Draco is both attracted to you _and_ trusts you. Thus, my conclusion that you _need to go kiss him_! You both have it bad for each other. Now, shoo! I have to finish this Arithmancy essay.”

Hermione ended the privacy with a flick of her wand, letting the quiet murmur of the library back in before pointedly turning back to her essay. Harry looked at her desperately, but ultimately, left her in the library as she became absorbed in her schoolwork.

He headed back to his room to grab his school bag so he could work on some essays — Herbology was due tomorrow and he hadn’t even started. It was on the Blood Orchid and its properties in potions, but Harry didn’t even know where to even begin. He should have paid more atten –

Harry stopped, hand on the doorknob, at the threshold. Harry’s bed was closest to the door, and he could see it now — and it wasn’t empty.

He could see Draco’s sleeping face as he slept soundly, the image of an angel: peaceful and happy, his platinum hair fanned out on the bed. He was clutching his own pillow and had the covers wrapped around himself loosely. Harry felt a rush of fondness for the boy, and realized Hermione was right: he had it bad. He crept closer, trying not to make too much noise, but his foot slipped on a shirt that he hadn’t noticed on the floor, and he fell back with a yell.

As Harry sat up, wincing and rubbing his back, he noticed Draco was sitting straight up, wand in hand and pointing directly at him, eyes wild. Once Draco realized it was just Harry, he calmed down.

“Why are you sleeping? It’s, like, midday on Sunday. Don’t you have homework?”

Draco blushed before replying softly, “I was stressed, so I had a nap.”

“Really? In my bed?” Harry laughed fondly as Draco spluttered.

“I — I didn’t mean to, I just — you just smell — I-”

“Dray, don’t worry,” Harry said, creeping closer until he was sitting on the bed. Up close, he could see Draco's eyes in all their glory: grey, but brighter than they had been at the start of the term. There were slight blue flecks near the edges, and they swirled silver whenever Draco had any strong emotions.

Harry drew nearer slowly, giving time for Draco to move, but the blonde seemed as transfixed as he was. He put his hand on Draco’s cheek and the blonde sighed, leaning into it. Slowly, slowly, they drew nearer, and then stopped, lips barely touching, feeling each other’s air. It was as if time had stopped and reality had reduced to him and Draco on this bed, nothing more.

Harry took the plunge first, closing the short gap and kissing Draco fully for a few moments before backing away.

“Don’t worry, Dray. You can sleep in my bed all you want.”

At that, Draco laughed and pulled Harry next to him, nuzzling his neck. Harry happily let himself be dragged in; that essay could, would wait.


End file.
